Day 1

0700
CAPE CANAVERAL, FL

The sun has barely risen when you pile into a small NASA shuttle bus bound for Launch Control Center. You all received a call from NASA administrator PAUL SCALZO yesterday evening requesting a meeting at 0800 the following morning in Conference Room C at the LCC. His familiar voice sounded unusually worried. You depart from the hotel where you were staying a few miles away from your destination. In the bus is the current group of five astronauts who have been training for the last 18 months for a secret mission. It looks like today is the day you'll find out what that mission is.

Another day. Hamlet thought as he climbed into the bus taking a middle seat. When he was a toddler the city decided to change a nearby intersection into an overpass. Construction went for several months. Just a block away jackhammers and heavy machinery rattled and the noise filled the house all hours of the day and even into the night. As a result he grew accustomed to falling asleep drowning in a cacophony. He never had trouble falling asleep. Last night was no different. Scalzo had sounded worried, atypical for him, but all too typical for the government button downs. Whatever it was that had him spooked would be resolved and everyone could go back to their blissful mediocrity.

An NPR podcast blurred through his earbuds at 2x speed. He gave it a small sliver of his attention. A steady stream of chatter in his ear helped keep him from ruminating in his thoughts, and it didn't have the unbearable boredom of making small talk with others. Hamlet glanced around the bus sizing up the others for the umpteen millionth time. He had slotted into his usual place with the group, not the most well liked, not the most hated, somewhere in the middle, story of his life. He was certain they all had their opinions of him, he was also certain that he didn't care enough to try to change them. Push came to shove they worked together but he doubted when all was said and done and the mission was over they would keep in touch. That was just how things went. His thoughts drifted to friends, best friends, lovers, all of them strangers to him now. He locked back in on the voices in the earbuds talking about income inequality. It sent his racing thoughts back into the stables for now but they would return.

A stickler for detail and protocol to a fault, some found Dierdre Turner MD, too intense, too driven. Their loss, she always thought when inevitably they would turn away one by one. She immersed herself in her profession which was both a distraction and a joy for her. While those that knew her eventually soured, her charisma was such that she always had a bevy of followers and admirers drawn to her charm and gift of the gab, and her smooth voice that lulled people into feeling safe and content. She wanted to help folks, always had, whether it had been patching up her dolls as a child or mending a broken finger or even a heart. People poured out their problems to her because she was an excellent listener and lucky for them, she had done a psych rotation as part of her education.

Sitting on the bus she felt that chip on her shoulder grow. Being selected as the third choice didn't sit well with her especially since she was originally passed over for male candidates and only because they were men. She had nothing against men in general. A turnstile of males had come and gone from her life over the years, but this was different. She was more qualified than those selected before her and only a twist of fate got her on the team. As she alternately mulled and steamed over this, she knew she'd have to come to terms with her hangups and concentrate on the job at hand which was quite a mystery. She knew she might be treating non-astronauts. What did that mean exactly? Who were they going to meet?

Examining those in her line of sight on the bus, she chuckled to herself. There was Danny, as she called him, but only in her mind. She always had the urge to pinch his chubby cheeks, and bring him out of his shell, but that would be unprofessional. That fantasy remained firmly entrenched in her head as she moved onto the others.

Then her eyes rested on McMillan. Ugh. What an arrogant flirt. She never responded in kind, and he finally got the message. All in all, she'd happily work with all of them as she was very excited to be on this mission and see it succeed.

Maj Dirk "Slappy" McMillan sees Deidre eyeing him over and returns the look with a smile and a wink. This was it, finally after all this time he was going back, and Dirk sat there with such nervous energy he thought he might vibrate out of his seat. After 18 grueling months with no end sight, Dirk knew his frustrations were starting to slip out.

But this was it! The call came through and he was ready! When he heard about the call, he had to cancel his date with Becky. Whatever could have came of last night wasn’t going replace the thought of what the next mission could be. In truth, Dirk didn’t care much. He could be delivering cargo for all he cared, as long as it got him out of the atmosphere. As he looked around at his comrades, he felt good with the team that they had become. Sure they had there friction spots, and maybe Dirk might have been the cause of some of them, but he trusted them. And above all, that’s what you need in a crew. So as they sat there in the van, silently heading to what he was sure was gonna be the meeting they’ve been waiting for, he just smiled and hummed to the tune of Rocketman as he counted down every second of the drive.

It's about time this mission is on a move, thinks Shuttle Mission Commander Michael Spay. He's glad to be in present company on the bus. Well...with almost all. But his history and gripe with Hamlet has to be put aside. It can't affect the mission and Spay's responsibility to all.

Anyway, he's pleased that even the civilian flight surgeon, Turner, is showing her fitness for this mission. It is puzzling why NASA hasn't chossen an airforce doctor for this mission, but Turner is proving to be uncomplaining and smart, but there's a bit of arrogance in her. Spay can relate to that. He knows the team is the best and he includes himself in that assessment.

Spay can't wait to be in space again, although he would not outwardly admit it, there is not a human on earth he would not betray to be here with this team.

LCDR Belton sat quietly on the bus, his nose in a book. He had worked hard to be here, especially over the past eighteen months. However... the time had come. The training was paying off. With much of the mission still a mystery, one would assume he'd be nervous about what was to come. They would be wrong.

In that moment, Luke felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. All the training, the long hours, the relentless work... finished. He felt relieved, and accomplished. What he had endured was paying off, and what came next was a matter for tomorrow. In the moment, Luke Belton was feeling pretty damned good about things.

The group weren't best friends, but that was fine. They were all professionals. That was all that was needed. They were also the cream of the crop. Whtever happened next, Luke was confidant he'd excell just as he had in life. He was proof hard work paid off, and naysayers could doubt all they wanted -- he knew the truth.

A half hour after boarding the bus you enter Conference Room C. It's a long room that looks like any other conference room: long cheap tables in a U shape, plastic rolling chairs with maroon cloth seats, a projector screen and some writing boards. Four men are sitting at one table waiting for you. NASA Administrator Scalzo is talking with Air Force Colonel Aaron Woolrich. You've seen Woolrich from time to time as he has supervised parts of your training, but he has never interacted with you before. Another two men are sitting next to each other but separated from Scalzo and Woolrich by a couple of empty seats. They wear unadorned jumpsuits. One is chubby-cheeked and looks like he
is going to vomit. His jumpsuit is stretched over bulging thighs and a swollen belly. The other is scarecrow thin, with thinning white hair and a deeply seamed face. His expression is resigned.The men all stand up as you enter. Scalzo scurries over to greet you and then formally introduces you to Colonel Woolrich. The Colonel salutes you crisply and offers a firm handshake to each of you, greeting you by name and mouthing pleasantries about what an honor it is to work with you and your commitment to the job. Finished, Woolrich introduces the two other men.

"This here," he points to the overweight gentleman with red hair, "Is Mr. Bruce Weintraub. And here," he gestures to the older man with white hair, "Is Mr. Pierce O'Neil. They are not military nor NASA people but outside contractors to help with this mission. They have been cleared for BLACKSAT, so we may discuss matters freely in front of them." Woolrich gives a look to Paul Scalzo. Scalzo awkwardly says, "Well, I guess that's my cue. Good luck and I'll be in touch later." He exits the room.

"Now then," Woolrich continues. "The United States has a classified defense satellite in orbit code-named BLACKSAT that needs repair and recalibration. Your mission is to escort Weintraub, or O'Neil as an alternate, on a covert shuttle flight to effect these repairs and recalibrations.

"BLACKSAT’s orbital height is 523 kilometers, and it is moving at seven kilometers per second. Commander McMillan’s mission is to guide the craft into a close and synchronized orbit where Belton and Hamlet can escort Weintraub or O’Neil to the satellite. You cannot bring the satellite into the bay or use the shuttle remote arm. The techniques and technologies that they will use are classified separately from BLACKSAT, and you are not cleared for those. The shuttle will be loaded with three Manned Maneuvering Unit rigs to allow for one of the civilians to maneuver under escort by the two mission specialists. The repairs begin in five days. Liftoff is in 48 hours. Are there are any questions?"

Spay, inwardly reminding himself that the mission is more important than his ego, fights back a slight feeling of insult at not hearing his name specifically mentioned during the briefing. His curiosity over takes him when Colonel Woolrich asks his last question.

"Yes Sir. What are the directives for myself and Doctor Turner on this mission?" He also hopes to get some sort of explanation about why the doctor is on this mission from the Colonel's response.

"Thank you sir. I understand," Spay affirms, considering it unwise at the moment to pry as to why an air-force doctor has not been chosen for the mission. But then again, the mission is to escort the civilian workers to the station. Who better to tend to them than a civilian doctor; he muses to himself.

"Sir, one question if I may," Belton says and leans forward slightly. "Is this a scheduled routine maintenance call, or did external factors neccesitate this mission?"

It seems like a simple enough query, and yet Luke seems wholly invested in the answer.

"Sir which of these civvies are we taking? It seems a little close to launch to still be deciding. Have they had time training on the MMUs? I've got no problem escorting but I want to make sure I'm not taking a kid with a learner's permit out onto the autobahn if you catch my meaning, sir. Whoever it's going to be Belton and I are going to need some training time with them."

Jesus God Almighty, Hamlet thought, look at this pair of Abbot and Costello rejects. Scarecrow would probably shake into straw stuffing on launch and big boy looks like he ate the Cowardly Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and is probably rooting around for Toto as a snack. They'll need to strap an extra fuel tank to the shuttle just to make sure they could clear orbit. And he and Belton would be responsible for them out in open space. Belton was a good hand, hard worker, maybe worked a little too hard for his own good. Hamlet trusted him to not flake out, but these two were unknown variables and Hamlet despised unknown variables. Seriously, these were the best two options the government could scrape together for this mission? Too difficult to convince some ivy league quant who rowed crew to step away from his six figure income and martini lunches at daddy's hedge fund company to slum it up in space. He eyed the two candidates in some futile attempt to bore into their souls. They better not be a bunch of pricks.

Spay was capable and alright in the doctor's estimation but she would have rathered ask about her directive herself. As Dierdre subtly examined the new men in the room, she hoped to God, they wouldn't get them all killed. At the colonel's mention of redundancies, she arched an eyebrow in surprise at the matter-of-fact way the man used the word as if he was talking about something other than human beings.

Dirk almost laughs at the mention of having to train these two in only 2 days.

"Sir, I will get these guys where they need to go, but getting them ready before launch is a tall order. It takes months of dedicated training and… i mean no disrespect by this… these two look like they’ll break just climbing into the shuttle."

He’ll pass a smile to Weintrab as if to say ‘sorry but it’s true’

Weintraub doesn't seem offended, and in fact nods in agreement. "I know we aren't astronauts. If it makes you feel better I am scared of what this will do to my fibromyalgia, quercetin or no quercetin." He gives a quick worried glance at Dr. Turner. "But we are the only two people who can repair this or we wouldn't be here. Even Al is the only one who fully understands the Courtis differentials and--"

"That information is ADAKITE clearance only," Woolrich cuts Weintraub off. "I understand your concerns. These two men here represent 50% of the entire population on Earth who can repair the satellite, so failure is not an option, and they both will be going. Hamlet and Belton will be escorting one of these men in the MMU, so they just need to be familiar enough with their suits and what the MMU does to not jeopardize themselves or others. Dr. Turner, I need you to perform pre-launch physicals and clear them for the mission. Then Hamlet and Belton can begin their training. I suggest you make good use of the limited time available."

Taking that as a dismissal, Dirk stands up with a good stretch and turns to his comrades.

"Well, it looks like you all your work cut out for you. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the simulator. Wouldn't want to get rusty and careen us into the ocean."

He gives a chuckle as if telling a joke and will walk out.

"Of course colonel. At once."

Dierdre furrows her brow, deeply concerned with this new information. Fibromyalgia meant terrible joint pain and sensitivity. She wouldn't even entertain the mental ramifications of this disease not to mention all of it combined with the unhospitable environment of space. She dreaded to think what a recipe for disaster this was. She was familiar with quercetin and as far as she knew there no studies done on its efficacy in space or during the rigors of takeoff. In fact, there was no evidence that it did anything at all under ordinary circumstances.

The colonel left no doubt that both of the men needed to pass their physicals. If he felt these men needed to risk their lives on this mission, then who was she to stand in the way.

"Follow me, gentlemen. I will conduct the physicals now." The caduceus floated across the doctor's mind. It looked like she would be leaving the Hippocratic oath behind.

Spay decides to go visit the shuttle and talk to the engineers to check on updates to the systems and any other enhancements built into the current design. As he regularly does between missions and training, he had been keeping up on developments remotely before being summoned to the mission briefing. But nothing substitutes seeing it in person.

Dierdre goes over each man's file, and much to her consternation it's mostly redacted. How can she be expected to do anything approximating her job when most of the men's medical details are hidden. As if that wasn't enough, she had been pressured to medically clear both men. She was either going to lose her job and demand the details she needed to do her job properly, or she was going to go on this mission and the men's health be damned. Seeing as the powers that be clearly didn't care, she decided that she wouldn't either.

Snapping the files closed she conducts her examinations. Only her arched eyebrows tell the tale of her concerns.

Hamlet walked beside Belton on their way to the locker room. "Can you believe this shit? Only the government would be dumb enough to send an ultra-classified satellite up there and not bother thinking of the inevitable eventually of maintenance. If this is their idea of advanced planning I'd hate to see who's looking over my Social Security accounts." Hamlet allows a chuckle. The next 48 hours were going to be taxing, on him, and on Belton, the least he could do was enjoy a brief moment of levity before they had to belly up to the shit sandwich buffet.

"You have a preference? I figure it will go faster if we each focus on one of the pair. Book one of the training rooms to go over the fundamentals before we bother the SCUBA support team and get 'em in the pool. Hopefully they'll both survive take-off and we can pick the least bad of the two when the time comes. Maybe tons of fun is a video gamer, that'll help with the MMU controls, but my bet is on old timer being more capable of not losing his shit when we're floating out there in the great sea of black without a tether."

"Shit brother, have I got some bad news about social security," Belton replies with a laugh. As talk turns to the plan, Belton literally glances behind them, then all around as if looking for spies. Or cameras. Probably cameras.

"Been thinkin' about it. Yes, we get those two as ready as we can in two whole days. But I want a Plan C in place for when shit goes sideways -- and we both know it will. You think they can talk us through the repairs if they can't actually do the job themselves?

I know there's a metric ass-ton of OPSEC in place, but at the end of the day the mission is what matters. We're already experienced with manipulating our environment in the damned suits. Those two are gonna fumblefuck their way through everything.

I dunno man. I'm just trying to figure out what our options are. That notwithstanding, I'll take whichever one you pass on. On the bright side, we only have to condense it down to nine months of training per day. What could go wrong?"

Biting her lower lip, Dierdre find herself in a pickle. She decides to play it safe with her questions while keeping them relevant.

To each one she asks, "How do you feel about claustrophobic situations and the opposite of being a little body in the vastness of space?"

Both patients give answers that amount to "We don't like it, but we will do it because it's our mission." Weintraub definitely seems more worried than O'Neil.

Hamlet fixes Belton with a discerning look running through scenarios, trying to keep his face a non-committal blank mask.

"If it comes to it, we improvise. Whatever it takes to make this mission a success. I'm going to drill these fuckers hard because the last thing I want is to come home with a couple body bags and a busted satellite. It's bad enough that almost nobody is going to know about our work here, it will be even worse if the mission is a failure. All of us will get pushed off to some back office riding out a desk for the rest of our careers and I've got no interest in that."

Hamlet looks around before continuing.

"Cozy up to Weintraub, I'll take O'Neil. See what you can learn, we'll confab tonight. If these are the only possible people who can fix this thing there must be something truly bizarre about what we're dealing with, or something entirely antiquated. I've turned a few wrenches and tinkered with electronics but this has got to be on a whole different level. Talk about the gear they'll need, it might give us some clue as to what they're planning on working with inside the sat."

Not interested in going home to wait out in his solitary apartment during this prep time. Spay makes a visit to some old friends at the facility. He hopes to find out some information about the background on the civilians chosen for this mission and if there is any declassified precedent (or otherwise) for including civilians on a mission such as this...if there ever has been a mission such as this.

Deirdre Turner MD is about to write in her notes that Weintraub seems more concerned about claustrophobia but decides against it. These guys were in such sorry shape that their upcoming training would likely weed them out quickly. The thought did cross her mind that O'Neill could even die, but then it wouldn't be her directly that resulted in either or both of them getting kicked off the mission. The mission needed them though.

Turner lets out an audible sigh as she goes over the thoughts in her head. This was not an ideal corner to be backed into and no doubt revealing that she was told to medically pass both men, should there be issues later, would be categorically denied. She decides to take her chances and wonders when she turned into such a horrible human being. She had been an advocate of Do No Harm.

Weintraub and O'Neil feel both relieved and disappointed at the same time. Turner gets the feeling that they know this mission could be dangerous and that they need to do it, but both also maybe secretly wished they would have a medical excuse to be rejected.

As O'Neil is leaving he says, "Thanks, doc. I appreciate a doctor who doesn't pry too much and just follows orders." You can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. "Keep an extra eye on Weintraub, I worry about his health."

Weintraub had a kind of bubbly energy, like he wants to talk, but also scared of what he wants to say. As Turner doesn't ask him any probing questions, he doesn't have an excuse to say what he wants and so keeps it bottled up inside. His departing words are, "Al's a good guy. Don't let anything happen to him while we're up there."

Dirk heads into the Sim Bay and asks the controllers to power it on so he can run through the standard set of emergency scenarios that he's already practiced thousands of times. He's always been a good stick and kept a calm head under the worst circumstances, and even two days before launch he's not feeling any pressure.

One thing that is on his mind is the secret nature of the mission and Dirk absolutely loves juicy gossip. He'll ask the sim team everything he can to find out more about the two new mysterious crew members.

"Wait. Weintraub."

Dierdre thought it odd the way both men seemed so concerned about the other.

"Are you and O'Neil best buds? Your concern for each other is admirable. I hope you know you can come to me for anything. I have psych experience and am a good listener and my door is always open should you wish to talk about anything that's on your mind. This must be stressful for you as it is for all of us, so know that you are not alone."

Spay knows a member of mission control, a young Asian woman who handles orbital calculations, and makes sure to pay her a visit to ask about any programs that might be similar to BLACKSAT. She explains first that BLACKSAT is a deniable anti-satellite weapon platform. If the Russians or the Chinese put anything unacceptable into orbit, BLACKSAT can degrade its functionality, interfere with its communications, and gradually decay its orbit until it goes offline. It is not dangerous to human beings, nor to anything flying under its own power with a human at the stick.

As for similar programs, she mentions the BLACKSTAR space-plane and the MISTY imaging satellites, but can’t really help, because all that information is need-to-know. Even the people who put the stuff up don’t really know how it operates, or even, sometimes, what it is.

Hamlet smiles at the joke he's heard his entire life. Everybody made it, and everyone assumed they were the first to make it. He gives O'Neil a firm handshake. "Glad to hear it. It's not about fitness," it is "or age" it is "or familiarity with the equipment." it most certainly is "What you've got between your ears and under your hair counts for 99% of it." A modification of a line a remedial math teacher gave him in second grade. Hamlet didn't believe it then and certainly doesn't believe it now. "Let's hit the gym for some range of motion and stretching, get warmed up and limber." Hamlet nods towards a locker with O'Neil's nameplate on it and disrobes changing into athletic gear his dog tags clinking as he pulls on the form fitting black t-shirt.

"Whereabouts do you call home O'Neil?" Start with small talk, work your way inside his defenses. No chance this guy has undergone even half the shit Hamlet put up with in SERE training. Time to put some of it to use.

"Oh! Well congratulations Bruce. That's wonderful."

She deliberately uses his first name to establish some intimacy which she should have done from the start. Nevermind that she was possibly sending him to his death.

"Tell me Bruce. What excited you about it other than being the first. We can also talk about what terrifies you if it will help. You know having a friend in me and O'Neil is a great thing."

"Thanks. I can always count on you for a good chat. Remember...the offer always stands. Give a me a call sometime, we'll go get a drink when you need a break from your non-stop working." With that, Spay decides to go see if he can rest his own mind some with a drink.

"Space Euphoria? They must have skipped that in my psych rotation. Tell me about it." She could tell the man's nervousness was easing with their conversation. They could address the very typical fear of space once he became more comfortable.

"Well, Bruce, the literature says that a feeling of agoraphobia is very common, expected even, so you aren't alone. Allow yourself to feel that emotion, don't fight it and then tuck it away somewhere. You could try putting it in an imaginary box and putting that box under your bunk. It actually works, believe it or not. Perhaps some people feel happy, but personally I've never felt that way."

A forced smile forms on her lips as she adds, "You'll be fine, Bruce. What you are experiencing is entirely normal."

Hamlet clocks the scarring on O'Neil. He thinks about mentioning it, but thinks better of it.

"Butler, Purdue, Notre Dame?"
"I'm not going to bullshit you. It's going to be tough, but we don't really have a choice about it do we? So it's best we don't focus on what we wish we had and focus instead on what we do have. You do a lot of camping out in the Cowboy State?" Hamlet starts walking with O'Neil, leading him toward the weight room to do some stretches.

"Thanks, doc. I'll keep that in mind. Well, let's go be unsung heroes." He gives a smile that has a tint of sadness to it. Weintraub leaves the examination room and heads toward the training pool to meet up with Belton. He says, "Normally, the physical exam would be the worst part of my day. I have a feeling this will be much worse."

"Just a bit when I was a Boy Scout." O'Neil does surprisingly well in the training. He complains about problems breathing and that his "lungs ain't what they used to be" and how the suit is "stiffer than my high school erections." He fails on the first attempt and barely passes on the second. Still, everyone had secretly expected worse. After the training he is physically exhausted and leaves the pool to take a much needed nap.

Belton greets Weintraub with a smile and a handshake. "So, we have our work cut out for us. You can call me Luke by the way... you not being military means we can shelve the customs and courtesies. Shitcan the formalities, and work together without all the stress that can come with the typical "yes sir, no sir" act. Sound good? We'll get through this together."

Belton will start walking with the young man to the weight room, intending to stretch as a warm up. "We're going to take this down to brass tacks. We focus on the essentials. Fundamentals will carry you further than you think."

As they stretch, Belton will talk with Weintraub -- partly to keep his mind engaged and not let him stew on how much this sucks, and partly to see if he can get any information about the repairs in question. "Look... I know you can't go into details about what you know and what your job is. But tell me this much... can you talk someone through the repairs if needed? Things are complicated, but if you think you can guide me step by step, we might have a plan c. Thoughts?"

After the fitting and the pool, Belton will have Weintraub wear the gloves from the training suit the rest of the day so he can get a bit more comfortable with fine motor skills in those oversized, clunky gauntlets.

"Damn. I really hate not having a back-up for my back-up, y'know? That's alright though," Luke says, offering a reassuring smile. "The biggest challenge to the suit is how bulky it is. Obviously its weight is only a factor in atmosphere. You get comfortable with those gauntlets, and you've overcome arguably the biggest hurdle we're facing. Do everything in them. Eat, type, play video games, read a book, play darts... really work on compensating for manual dexterity. Sound good?"

Dirk sits in the Sim and successfully completes another run. He was just going through the motions has he talked with Sim handler through his mic.

"So what are you hearing about this mission? I only got scraps. Not that I'm complaining, I don't need a good reason to take the shuttle out for a joy ride. Still, the timing is odd. What are they telling you guys about this?"

"Easy, easy... you got this, man. Tell me about your thesis."

The Lieutenant Commander stays calm, urging Weintraub to talk about something else to curb his panic. Belton steps in to physically assist the civilian in maneuvering the suit, drawing on his own expertise to serve as an example.

Luke smiles. "Don't be sorry. You stuck it out and kept practicing. That's a win in my book. I mean that. You have a little homework -- keep the gaunlets. Do everything in them. Seriously... eat dinner, type, write, read a book, play a game, whatever. Do any of it and all of it. We'll pick up tomorrow morning. And hey -- if you have questions or feel like you're ready for round 2... call me. I got you."

Belton seems completely unphased by Weintraub throwing up. He'd seen it plenty of times in the Navy. People push themselves so hard their own body revolts. Usually it's for the PFT run, but some cross country unit runs can go on for 6, 7, 12 miles. People dropping like flies.

The fact the kid had stuck it out until his own body gave up on him was respectable.

6 x 5 = 30 < 45

The sim handler, Harold, waits until no one else is around before answering. "We haven't been told much either, but I've been able to piece a few things together. Woolrich wasn't kidding when he said there were only four people on Earth who could do this mission, I think. The satellite is highly advanced, and I do mean highly. None of NASA's engineers were deemed knowledgeable enough to do this and it's our damned jobs to know everything about what we put up in space. So I looked into these guys. Weintraub was a Harvard grad, highly decorated math wiz, but disappears off the face of the Earth right after graduation. I couldn't find anything on anybody named Pierce O'Neil. For someone who is supposed to be one of the best in the world, he has no school record, no published papers, nada. And be careful who you talk to McMillan, people who work top secret projects end their careers working a desk job in Bumfuck, Alaska if they draw any negative attention. And you didn't hear any of this from me."

"Hey no worries buddy, I never give up my sources. Appreciate the insight though. I think I’ll go see how our new gusts are fairing. It’s clear that I haven’t missed a step here.

Dirk flips all the switches back to their off position before getting out of his seat. As he exits he’ll stop by Harold’s station.

"Thanks again pal. If you hear anything new,give me a call."

Dierdre catches up on her notes on both men and wonders why she is bothering. She's suddenly both despondent and elated about the mission and chuckles at the dichotomy of those thoughts. The textbooks would say that exhibits a very troubled mind.

"Ha," she snickers, closes her pad and goes to join the others to see how the training is progressing.